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by Swiper. No swiping
Summary: Mobotropolis is in danger. Will Sonic and Antoine find the Chaos Emeralds in time?


**1**

It is a different time now. No more war, just peace and prosperity. But these things were not like anything they had imagined. It is sad, really; there was an innocence in their original vision that went missing. The past was still there. The trauma was still there. You couldn't reverse it, not completely. Like a nightmare they had woken up from, it still stuck to them and haunted everything they did.

The Mobotropolis of old is gone, and nothing can be done to bring it back. They had to make a new one, almost from scratch, but this new one is not as great as they remembered the old one. There is more smog in the air than before, and more bombings. There are lots of bombings as of late but nobody's quite sure why, or where they're coming from. That's why Sonic and Antoine are sitting in this bar.

"I'm telling you, Ant," Sonic says. "With the way kids are spoiled these days, what with their personal computers, and their internet, it's no wonder that so many of them are turning out autistic."

Well that's sort of why they're sitting in this bar.

"Yes," says Antoine.

"I mean, it's not rocket science." Sonic is gesticulating wildly because he drank a little more than he meant to. "What the new generation doesn't understand is that social contact is actually fuckin' important, not something to be avoided at all costs."

"Yes," says Antoine.

"I mean, nobody seems to get why their kids are all coming out weird and stunted, but maybe if it were like the old days, when parents actually wanted to spend time with their kids, and told them off when their kids did something wrong. Like my parents did. Do you think my parents let me get away with anything?"

"Yes," says Antoine, nodding.

"No, Ant, they sure as fuck didn't," Sonic says. "If I acted up my old man would beat my ass. That's what's wrong with kids these days. If their parents weren't so afraid to lay a hand on them, and stopped encouraging them to be different, then there wouldn't be all these social retards wandering around drooling and rubbing hand sanitizer on everything, right?"

"Yes," says Antoine.

"Jesus, I mean, not all technology is good. You think they of all people would know that. Not all technology means progress. Shit." Sonic downs another shot of something. He's far too gone to be concerned with what he's drinking as long as it's alcoholic.

"Eh, Sonic."

"What is it?"

"Do you not think we should be focusing on our assignment from the Preencess?"

"The what?"

"The meeshun."

"Oh, uh," Sonic can't remember. Or doesn't want to.

"We are to find the Chaos Emeralds and then we make a returning of them to the Preencess so that we maybe find out who is behind these disastrously bumpings," Antoine says, shaking a fist with conviction.

"You mean bombings, Ant."

"That ees what I said," Antoine forces a half-smile. "The bumpings."

These are not the same heroes as before. You may not recognize them if you see them. Sonic's gone soft, his body loosely wrapped in a floral-print shirt, the buttons straining to stay closed around his stomach. His face has gone soft too, all jowls and laugh lines. That's only a term. Not laugh lines, really, since Sonic doesn't laugh much. He prefers to keep his face somber and hidden under a Panama hat, preferably with a cigar in his mouth. Antoine still wears the same coat, although it's gone a bit threadbare with the passing years. The fur on top of his head has gone grey in streaks. He's even a bit slower than before, with a touch of a developing respiratory problem, likely emphysema. The smoke rolling in from the bayfront factories is what's doing it.

Sonic's problems mainly stem from his joints. They aren't quite what they used to be, what with all that running wearing them down. The best he can execute nowadays is a jog.

You should see Sally. Her hourglass figure turned into a full pear shape some time ago. She's a queen now, full HRH title and everything, but Ant still has the bad habit of calling her princess. She's pushing sixty. Most of them are already past sixty now. It's a slippery downhill slope with no hope of climbing back up.

"We can get moving in a bit, just let me sober up a little," and Sonic lights a cigar. Antoine coughs sympathetically.

Sonic's been through nearly half a bottle, so he'll be needing more than one cigar. Antoine has barely touched his scotch and water ever since it used to be a scotch on the rocks.

"These damn bleeding-heart liberals," Sonic continues. "They're coddling their kids too much, Ant. Raising their kids to bitch about their problems instead of doing something about it. Garner sympathy for your condition, and it'll be the last work you ever have to do. Know what I mean?"

"Yes," says Antoine.

He has no idea what Sonic is talking about.

"Back in my day, you had to raise your own kids. You had to show them right from wrong. You couldn't expect them to glean all that from the outside world. There are some real sickos out there nowadays. And once they get their hands on your children it's all internet porn and toilet sex from there, Ant."

"Yes," says Antoine.

Sonic exhales a fat cloud of cheap wine-flavored smoke through his nostrils. It hangs around his head, obscuring it from view slightly. He's tired, very tired.

"You know, Ant," he says. "It would be nice to have a conversation with you every now and then, instead of you just dismissing everything I say with a Yes, says Antoine."

"Yes," says Antoine.

"Have you been listening to a goddamn word I've said?"

"Um, I 'ave been, yes."

Antoine really hasn't, but it's not because he doesn't want to.

"Ant, how long have you been living with us?"

"Every since the terrible Robotneek came and took over the fine ceetee of Mobotrópolees?"

"And that was how many years ago?"

"Um, I am not knowing."

"Thirty-five years ago, Ant. Thirty-five years," Sonic's face is pulled to one point, on the attack. "I find it hard to believe that you've lived in our country for thirty-five years and still haven't been able to pick up the language."

"Eet ees a trés difficult language to be learning, even in such a time," Antoine raises his hands to his chest in a defensive gesture.

"Christ. Sometimes I wonder why I even hang out with you at all," Sonic mumbles, staring at his empty shot glass. "Maybe if you practiced speaking in a real conversation it would get easier for you. So come on, Ant."

"Excusé-moi?"

"Talk. Speak to me. You know. Let's have a conversation. You start."

"Um, oui, yes, okay. I will start."

A silence falls over the pair, and the entire bar as well. It's twenty past the hour. There's not much to say about the bar itself. It's what you'd expect. Regular patrons, regular bartender. Wood paneling on the walls. The jukebox in the corner plays a song about a working man who dreams of retiring to somewhere in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Where nobody can get to him, and he can sit in a lawnchair all day drinking as much beer as he damn well pleases. The song is supposed to be happy, but it's sad, it's all very sad, and nobody's sure why.

"Well, Ant?"

"What ees eet?"

"What, would, you, like, to talk, about?" He deliberately spits each word out between grit teeth.

Antoine poses like he's in thought, even though he isn't.

"Oh, um, I am trying to think of the words," his face feels hot and uncomfortable.

The anger in Sonic diffuses all at once, turns inward. His expression gets even more sour, if that's possible.

"Never mind, Ant, just never mind. Let's get going."

"Oh, that ees okay, yes? I am being right behind you."

Sonic nods at the bartender, sliding a hundred under his last empty shot glass. Antoine peels himself off of his barstool, lands on his feet. Sonic follows suit, slowly so as not to aggravate his joints. He hits the landing a little off, stumbles, catches himself on the bar with one hand, rights himself after a moment. He's not sober but he's getting there.

As the pair moves to leave the bar, Sonic motions for Antoine to stop so he can light another cigar. Antoine stops in the doorframe, looks at him as though he were a child in the hospital burn ward, or a puppy that's missing a leg. Something to be pitied. Sonic supposes he is. Sonic supposes they both are.

Outside it's night. And it's cool, not cold, not yet. It's one of those in-between seasons, Sonic isn't particularly sure whether the cold is coming or going, but the days and the nights are starting to equal each other in length. The two of them walk along the bayfront, looking even more sick than usual in the green glow of the streetlights. A couple of occupied taxis drive by. Smoke hangs overhead, lit an infernal purple-red by the city lights.

This isn't the Mobotropolis they used to know. There are very few gardens now. Even fewer trees. The landscape used to be a little different. Instead of wide-open spaces, marked with spread-out neighborhoods and beautiful public buildings made of stonework; it's now skyscrapers, brick apartment complexes, a tangle of highways with no planning and seemingly no point, acid-rain erosion and dirty pavement. In the distance they can see the old castle with the famous hanging gardens all lit up. It's not the original thing, completely reconstructed after Robotnik leveled the old one. No traditions left to preserve. Nothing here is sacred anymore.

"I used to come down here," Sonic says to no one in particular, "at night when I was younger. I'd watch the lights on the hills, all the houses I knew were on the other side of the bay, and the radio towers on the summit, when you used to be able to see them through all this shit in the air. I'd watch them slowly disappear behind the wall of fog."

Antoine doesn't respond because he knows that it's not for him. Just for Sonic. He keeps his eyes intently on the radar, the Chaos Emerald locator. That old thing, you know, the one Tails invented in an alternate timeline.

"It was comforting, being able to see them. Knowing that you were not alone, that there were still people out there. It made me feel safe." The nostalgia in Sonic's voice is almost disgusting. "Did you ever used to do that, Ant?"

"Yes," says Antoine. To the radar.

"It's beautiful," Sonic blinks, remembers where he is now. "Was beautiful. That was a long time ago." That was a very long time ago.

This is what Sonic sometimes wonders, and it scares him. He's honestly surprised that Mobians have made it this far. If it's not one thing, it's another. Someone's gotta be there to kill them slowly, almost unnoticeably but still certainly, killing them, until they're all dead. First it was nature, then it was Robotnik, now it's, well, themselves. A civilization buried underneath their own progress. A certain someone comes to mind as the apex of the whole mess, but Sonic tends to shake it from his mind. Lose it on purpose. She's just a figurehead, he'll tell himself. You can't blame her for the problems caused by the population. She's just a name for the disease, not the disease itself.

Which makes him wonder sometimes, what exactly it is they're shambling towards. Gangs in the streets, fast food chains, nudity on television, kids who can draw the blueprints for a nuclear reactor from memory but purposefully refuse to wipe themselves?

When he gets this way he tells himself something he used to tell himself a long time ago, when he was running from buzzbombers in the forests of Knothole. As long as they need me, he'd say, I'll be here. Sonic the Hedgehog can't die until the citizens of Mobotropolis are saved. Somehow it worked then, but now it doesn't. Not as well. How do you save something from itself?

Especially now, with these bombings. Subway stations, shopping malls. The other day, a post office in the central district exploded, injuring fifteen. One later succumbed to her wounds at the hospital. That makes thirty deaths so far. Hundreds injured. Nobody's come forward to claim responsibility, and by now you think somebody would have. There's no note. No noticeable suspicious activity. Witnesses claim that nothing extraordinary happened, no shifty characters, no anything.

It's terrifying, sure. But Sonic wonders sometimes, about who is really behind it. Could be anybody. Could be one organization behind it all. Could be copycat organizations, too. Could just be that Mobians are tired of their own existence. Could just be mass suicides. Nobody really knows yet.

They continue to move along the waterfront. From somewhere in the city, a police siren begins to sound. Somewhere far off. The pair passes by a newly shut-down gas refinery, before Queen Sally made the executive decision to move all that to the exburbs of the city. A smart one. Sonic exhales a puff of white smoke into the open night smog. Antoine hits himself in the chest, once, to relieve some tension. "Sonic," he manages, before he breaks into a cough.

"What?"

"Sonic, eet's the," cough, le cough, "the radar. I am thinking eet ees no good. Kaput."

Sonic's hands go tense. Pinches the end of his cigar, deforming it. "What, uh, what do you mean?"

"Eet ees, eet ees, eh, how you say," Antoine stops. Seems to be sweating over something. All nervous. The malfunction is probably his fault. Hands the radar to Sonic.

They've been tracking this signal all day, all throughout the city, all through different parts of the city, until they finally narrowed it down to the waterfront. "And now you're telling me it's busted?" Sonic hisses, looking at the blip on the radar screen.

"Sacré bleu, eet cannot be–" the words stop halfway up Antoine's throat and he realize he can't force them out. Nerves. He gestures at the refinery. "Eet cannot be," he finally gets out. His lips keep moving.

"Well, that's where the radar says it is," Sonic sighs. Something old starts stirring in him. Adrenaline, perhaps. "Come on, Ant, let's figure out a way to get in the building."

The reason why Antoine is unable to speak is because his heart has somehow lodged itself in his throat. Going as fast as a train at full-speed. He swallows, hard. "Sonic–"

Sonic cracks his spine, pops his ankles. Rubs his lower back. "Jesus, I'm too old for this." His face obscured by the darkness in between streetlights. Tosses the cigar on the ground, casting sparks all over the sidewalk.

"Eet cannot be in there," Ant offers, wide-eyed. "Sonic." Hoping he can change Sonic's mind.

"Come on, Ant, the damn radar says so. They've been found in weirder places. Hell, I had to fish one out of a casino, once."

"Sonic I am not having a feeling that is so good about the building."

"Time to grow a pair, Ant." Sonic looks up at the chain-link fence surrounding the plant. "I suppose we could just scale the fence, but with my joints, I mean," shakes his head. Man, when did he get so old? Forget that. He grasps the holes, sticks his foot in another, slowly makes his way over the side of the fence, then lets go. He doesn't land gracefully, on a couple of limbs in a strange, twisted position.

Well, it's too late now, Ant. You might as well give it up. "Sonic, are you okay?"

"I'll be fine, Ant." He cracks his shoulder again. "Damn, that smarts. You coming?"

Antoine nods, solemnly. His heart has stopped beating, he can no longer hear it. He wonders if maybe it's stopped entirely. He climbs the fence after Sonic.

There's no light here; the streetlights don't project this far off the pavement. Sonic switches on his flashlight; the beam finds a rotting wooden door.

"You got enough kick in you to help me bust that door down?" he asks Antoine.

"Non," le cough. "I do not think I will being of any use to you now, let us return home."

"Shit, Ant, nothing's much changed with you over the years," Sonic grumbles. "Could've sworn you used that one on me back in the day."

Still, he steels himself. Digs one foot into the ground. Like he's about to do a speed drill. Suddenly, without much warning, he throws himself at the door. A loud smack, like a slab of ham dropped out of the fifth story window of an apartment building.

"Motherfucker," Sonic shouts, crumples against the still-standing door.

Antoine merely watches, uselessly. The pain filters into Sonic's knees, stays there as a dull ache. He walks, with his legs stiff, to his starting point. Then runs at full speed into the door again. This time, it busts.

Sonic trips up on himself, hits carpet. Dust flies in the air, getting in his eyes. "Shit, shit, shit," he blindly waves his hands in all the nothing as though it were attacking him. Antoine clicks on his own flashlight. Runs it around the walls of the room, searching for a light switch.

The dust starts to settle on Sonic. He clears his throat, picks his Panama hat up off the floor and sets in on his head. Then he finally picks himself up off the floor, feeling like an idiot.

"This mission is stupid," Sonic finally speaks what's been on his mind all day. "The whole goddamn thing doesn't make any sense. Why the hell does Sally want us to find the Chaos Emeralds? What does she expect to do with them?"

What does she expect to do with them. Juice up some young blowhard, give him superpowers? That's all they ever seemed to be good for, anyway. But for what, unless only to intimidate. This seems more political than useful. Sonic isn't interested in this bullshit.

"That ees not for us to be knowing. We must only be following the orders."

Antoine hits the lights. They can see it now: a simple room. White walls, green carpet. No furnishings. An empty door frame leading into a similar looking room. These must have been offices at some point.

"Fine, you're right," Sonic mumbles. His knees hurt. He doesn't want to be here. "I just wanna get this over with as fast as possible. Let's move."

Slowly he makes his way to the next room, checking the radar screen as he goes. The blip moves closer to him. This room is entirely the same as the last one, with more doors leading into more of the same.

It's frustrating. His knees hurt. He doesn't want to be here. Really, really doesn't want to be here. He pauses to light another cigar. Doesn't matter that he's had three in the space of an hour. Perhaps he needs to sober up a little more, yes, maybe that's it. It's not that bad for you if you do it in moderation. He'll take the next few days off, yes, that's right. Good idea. The trip will help keep his mind off of it. He's barely had any time to pack a suitcase. Maybe after they find this one, the queen will let them have some time off before they have to travel all the way out to East Buttfuck.

"Ant?" he says. No response. Oh well. Can't expect one when Ant doesn't even know the damn language.

There are lots of habits he's been meaning to change lately. Drink less, smoke less, eat healthier. His doctor told him to go swimming. Sonic doesn't want to, though. He never learned how. Doesn't feel like changing anything now. Isn't it too late, anyway? He's getting old. What the hell's the point in trying to make things better at his age?

His mind is wandering. Why is he thinking about this now? Focus, Sonic. Focus.

Sonic walks into the next room. There are no furniture markings on the walls, or on the carpet. Sonic almost assumes these rooms are new, that they haven't been lived in, if it weren't for the dust. He walks into the next room. Same as the last one. Nothing.

Sonic walks into the next room. Exhales a cloud of smoke. These rooms all look the same. The blip on the radar that indicates the Chaos Emerald, well, it doesn't seem to be any closer than before. He wonders if there's a mistake. Maybe Ant was right. Maybe the radar is busted. Kaput.

He thinks he hears footsteps. Sees something moving in the distance, something scuttling across the floor. Shadows.

"Hello?" He's immediately on the defense, wielding his flashlight like a baseball bat.

Nothing.

Sweat begins to form on Sonic's forehead. "Is someone there?"

No response.

Sonic walks into the next room and it's empty, no furniture, no people, no signs of having been lived in at all, just green carpet and white walls, the same as the last one, so he looks into the next room and it's the same as the one he's in. Sonic walks into the next room. It's the same as the last one, so he looks into the next room. It's the same as the one he's in, so Sonic walks into the next room. It's the same as the last one.

He looks into the next room. His skin starts to crawl. It's the same as the one he's in. He goes through the doorway into the next room. He doesn't want to be here. His knees hurt. The next room looks the same as the one he's in. It goes on and on and on.

This is a mistake. This is a very big mistake.

The radar beeps.

Sonic suddenly feels very alone.

The radar beeps again, then shuts off on its own.

He's not sure why he feels alone.

The walls beyond him begin to stretch far away from him. Growing darker, more obscure. Sonic knows, where he is standing has suddenly become the far edge of the universe, and beyond this room there is nothing. The rest of the world melts away, all that's left is this one room, with him standing in it, clutching the radar and trying to ignore the cold feeling of vertigo in his stomach, the pain in his knees.

He doesn't want to be here. He never wanted to be here in the first place. Why is he being punished? This isn't fair.

The room begins to tilt.

He falls to his hands and knees.

Cigar drops out of his mouth. Begins to burn a hole in the carpet.

The radar tumbles out of his hand.

He never wanted this at all.

Click, right behind his head.

"Ant," Sonic calls. "Ant? Where are you?"

Tears are rolling down Antoine's face. The gun in his hand shakes because his hand is shaking. His whole body is shaking. He can't do anything to help it.

"I'm sorry, Sonic," Antoine's voice is breaking. "I'm sorry you got involved in this."

He stops, clears the snot building in his throat. "I'm– I'm sorry this happened at all."

Antoine no longer has an accent.

Sonic can't do anything. Except hiss. Chastise himself. Why does he suddenly feel stupid? For falling for it?

"Of course," he finally says. "That's okay, Antoine. I should have known."

"Y-you know, I loved you. Very much. I was just so happy that I got to," cough, "know you at all. I wish it didn't have to end like this."

Sonic is numb.

Can't even feel the carpet underneath him.

Or the pain in his knees anymore.

Can't feel a thing.

"I don't want to do this," Antoine tries to steady his hand. "But I have to. It's the only way. I'm so sorry."

Then, something foreign starts inside Sonic. Something different. Pushing through the numbness.

An earthquake, maybe. It's distant, but moving. Growing in intensity. Getting closer. Moving through his body, up his stomach, his esophagus, into his chest.

By the time it reaches his lungs, he realizes that it's laughter.

Sonic the Hedgehog is on his hands and knees with a gun to his head, and he's laughing. Because the people of Mobotropolis need him.

The people of Mobius need Sonic the Hedgehog.

Antoine's eyes widen. Confusion. The tears continue, but the tremors stop. He readies his finger on the trigger.

"You can't kill me," Sonic beams, beatific. He has a big smile on his face. The first smile he's worn in years, laugh lines nearly stretching to their breaking point.

"Sonic the Hedgehog can never die," he says.

But he's wrong.


End file.
